A Marriage and other Sad Stories
by evadnekapaneos
Summary: One-shots centring around Draco/Astoria, later also Scorpius, a bit about Daphne. Mostly melancholic. 1. Daphne's opinion on her little sister's choice. 2. Old schoolfriends. 3. Babysitting the puppy. 4. Astoria pouting.
1. Walking Down to the Great Hall

_Disclaimer: I donʼt own Harry Potter._

 _A/N I will upload here all my stories that somehow are connected with Draco/Astoria and/or young Scorpius. They are all set post-war and after Draco and Astoria became a couple (I do have a longer story about the beginning of their relationship, but I'm afraid I won't be able put it up for quite some time). They're mostly harmless, sweet little stories I think. Hope you'll like them a bit nevertheless._

* * *

Hermione put the book back on the shelf and put a hand before her mouth to hide a yawn. She had completed her Runes translation and the Arithmancy essay. This meant she only had to complete her Potions homework, then she could spend the rest of the evening on her outline for the enforcement of Elf-rights like Kingsley had advised her to do. But now she needed a short break.

ʻAngle magic?ʼ said a slightly haughty voice behind her. ʻYou have no idea how strange it is to be ahead of you for one time in my life.ʼ

ʻYou have spent almost a year more at school, Daphneʼ retorted Hermione, turning to the speaker. ʻI donʼt see any reason for me to be uneasy.ʼ

Daphne smiled weakly and forced a handbook between two other heavy volumes. ʻI know there is little glory in it. Just let me pretend for the moment.ʼ

Hermione shrugged. ʻYouʼll already take your N.E.W.T.s in December, by June a comparison between us should be fairer.ʼ

Daphne snorted. ʻDonʼt we know the outcome?ʼ She stared sinisterly at some point over Hermioneʼs shoulder and added, ʻYou know what I wonder? Why do last terms fifth years take their O.W.L.s in October, but the N.E.W.T.s are only in December?ʼ

ʻAs far as I know they want to give the seventh years more opportunity to deal with the past term,ʼ repeated Hermione the consideration she had heard many of her Order friends voice. ʻThe fifth years stay on and Professor McGonagall hopes it will be possible to convey the subjects of the sixth year in the rest of the time so that the following year will be orderly again. It is a bit unfair as they will have less time, but they will be allowed more opportunities for compensation.ʼ

ʻWell, at least in December we should still be rid of him,ʼ muttered Daphne, then, turning to Hermione, asked, ʻAre you going down to dinner?ʼ

ʻYes,ʼ said Hermione, leaving the Arithmancy section with Daphne who looked disproportionately dissatisfied at the sight of the working students. Hermione snatched up her bag and rolled up the essays. ʻDo you intend to stay on?ʼ she then said.

ʻStay on?ʼ

ʻThatʼs what Susan intends to do,ʼ explained Hermione. ʻShe wants to stay till the orderly end of term to support younger students together with Hannah.ʼ

ʻN-no,ʼ said Daphne hesitantly, glancing away. ʻWhy?ʼ

ʻBecause of what you said before, about us being rid of someoneʼ said Hermione. ʻDid you mean a teacher.ʼ

She followed Daphneʼs gaze and had the impression her former classmateʼs eyes were directed at Draco Malfoy who sat relatively far off with the little girl that seemed glued to him ever since they had returned to Hogwarts.

ʻNo,ʼ said Daphne roughly, looking away and walking towards the exit. ʻI was thinking loud. Itʼs nothing. How are your parents?ʼ

Hermione needed some seconds to grasp the meaning of the sudden turn in the conversation. ʻThank you,ʼ she said, eyeing Daphne curiously. ʻTheyʼre very well, they have fully recovered from the Memory Charm. Theyʼre a bit angry with me, but... they know why I did it...ʼ

ʻIt must have been hard,ʼ said Daphne sympathetically. ʻItʼs a good way of dealing with - what happened, letting people tell how they suffered.ʼ

ʻExcuse me if Iʼm being curious,ʼ said Hermione. ʻBut how does a pure-blood Slytherin change her point of view in a couple of months? How - I now risk being insulting - how sincere are you?ʼ

Daphne looked over at her with raised eye-brows. ʻI donʼt know,ʼ she said slowly, starting to walk down a flight of stairs. ʻIt is strange.ʼ She made another pause. ʻI suppose... it is because of the Carrows... for though I embraced - embrace - embraced... what they said, I never was a violent person... Iʼd say... nor have my parents ever embraced violence... the Carrows kind of harmed their cause more by their teaching than helped it. Many think like I do, you know.ʼ

ʻNot all.ʼ

ʻNot all,ʼ repeated Daphne, sighing. ʻBut most of them are now for some months in Azkaban. Pansy. Millicent. Gregory. Theo-ʼ

ʻJust those who were of age and could be proven to have willingly performed the Unforgivable Curses and cooperated with Voldemortʼ (Daphne flinched) ʻin the Battle of Hogwarts. But some are already free again like-ʼ

ʻSo whatʼs Draco Malfoy doing here.ʼ

Hermione turned, surprised at Daphneʼs aggressive tone. The Slytherinʼs expression was in perfect harmony (or rather discord) with the anger that seethed in her voice. Automatically, Hermione jumped over a trick step before she addressed Daphne again. ʻYouʼd rather have him in Azkaban?ʼ

Daphne looked straight ahead. ʻYes,ʼ she said gruffly.

ʻDo you know anything that wasnʼt brought up in his trial?ʼ

ʻNo,ʼ the other admitted grudgingly. ʻI just donʼt like him being here. If he had not fought in the Battle of Hogwarts-ʼ

ʻHe didnʼt fight in the Battle of Hogwarts,ʼ interrupted Hermione.

ʻHe didnʼt? What for did he remain in the castle then?ʼ

ʻI donʼt know. I doubt that he knows himself.ʼ

Daphne made a huffing sound. ʻWell, that does sound more credible. Sheʼs _so_ naïve.ʼ

Hermione looked at Daphne, startled, but didnʼt want to question the statement that seemed to bother the girl so much.

ʻWould you want _your_ little sister infatuated with him?ʼ said Daphne abruptly, relieving Hermione a bit from her confusion.

ʻSheʼll get over it,ʼ said Hermione soothingly. ʻIf sheʼs younger than-ʼ

ʻSheʼs sixteen,ʼ interrupted Daphne. ʻBut how is she to get over it if Draco wants to marry her the day sheʼll be of age?ʼ

ʻIs your sister that little girl that constantly clings to him?ʼ asked Hermione, making the connection.

ʻYes.ʼ

ʻAnd she doesnʼt want to complete her education?ʼ

ʻShe has to,ʼ said Daphne with a certain satisfaction. ʻMum and Dad made her promise to wait until she finished school. At least, sheʼs got one and a half year without him here in which I ardently hope sheʼll forget him. _He_ doesnʼt intend to stay on, does he?ʼ With sudden alarm, Daphne looked over to Hermione.

ʻNo, not as far as I know. But... few people marry those they dated with sixteen,ʼ answered Hermione reasonably. ʻI mean, I was seventeen when I went to a party with McLaggen-ʼ

Daphne laughed, but was almost immediately serious again as she paused before the final flight of stairs that led into the Entrance Hall. ʻAstoria may fall easily in love,ʼ she said sombrely. ʻBut with far more resistance out of it again.ʼ

ʻYou donʼt think your sister could be happy with him?ʼ asked Hermione, descending one step.

ʻHeʼs an egoist,ʼ hissed Daphne, continuing her way downstairs. ʻHe cares about no one but himself. Astoria always wants to please. Heʼll abuse her.ʼ

ʻHe appears much humbled ever since we restarted school,ʼ said Hermione questioningly.

ʻHow can you defend him?ʼ asked Daphne, turning to Hermione as if she wanted to blame her for her sisterʼs predilection. ʻAfter all he said about you!ʼ

ʻIs he still talking like that?ʼ asked Hermione, entering into the Great Hall. ʻI thought heʼd have become a bit wiser.ʼ

ʻNo, he doesnʼt talk much anymore,ʼ spit Daphne. ʻOnly with Astoria, huddled together in an armchair. And I canʼt even protest because he mostly tests her on the textbooks for her O.W.L.s.ʼ

ʻYou said yourself they must separate for one and a half year. Much can happen during that time.ʼ

Daphne nodded reluctantly and half-smiled, before she turned with a parting wave to join the Slytherin table. Hermione hastened in the opposite direction towards Ginny who was waving at her with a letter. Hermione grinned. Contrary to her suspicions, it seemed as if Ron would indeed keep his promise and do something completely against his nature – write daily to her.


	2. Loss

_A/N I decided to order the stories here chronologically, therefore inserting this one-shot in this place. Because Daphne just became an interesting character while I developed Astoria, here's another glimpse into her life right after she finished Hogwarts. And this was somewhat easy to write. (There are some glimpses to my how-Draco-and-Astoria-met story. But Iʼm afraid Iʼm not going to put that up for quite a time. Itʼs one of my first fics and I was just correcting another old story, and itʼs really poor quality.)_

* * *

The tree that extended its naked branches towards the sky had not succeeded to keep the snow from the glass roof high up in its crown. Thus, the large, round room that - like the rest of the house - was built around the massive tree trunk would have been very sinister had it not been for several candles floating in midair. In this dull atmosphere, two young women, one sprawled over the bed, the other lolling in a beanbag, were bent over long rows of parchments that contained seemingly endless lists. They talked in low tones and compared what was written on their respective parchments, making notes with their quills.

ʻHow do you spell Besançon?ʼ asked the one in the beanbag, frowning and rumpling her dark, messy hair.

ʻItʼs got this little thing, like a tail, no, like a five, under the c, a celine, or celide, something like that,ʼ mumbled her friend, turning to the other side where her bed bordered on a bookshelf. ʻWait a second, there must somewhere be a map of France here.ʼ

ʻItʼs cédille, isnʼt it?ʼ said the other, yawning and snuggling into the beanbag. ʻNever you mind, Daphne. Weʼll find that town no matter how itʼs spelled.ʼ

ʻNaw,ʼ answered Daphne. ʻNow youʼve brought it up, I have to check.ʼ

ʻYeah, of course, always blame Tracey Davis, the dirty half-blood, the daughter of some banker-scum, who dared to take sides against the Dark Lord in the Battle of Hogwarts. There you go, oh high-born lady, blame poor Tracey. Itʼs always her fault.ʼ

ʻOh, shut up,ʼ scoffed Daphne, putting the atlas back and rolling down the bed. She got up and walked over to a large map she had pinned on the curved wall.

ʻItʼs somewhere in the south-east,ʼ said Tracey from the depths of the beanbag.

ʻWait a sec...ʼ said Daphne while she scrutinized the map. ʻYep, itʼs here. B - E - S - A - N - C with that celi-thing - O - N.ʼ

ʻThanks.ʼ

Paying her friend no attention, Daphne put her finger on the spot that was London. Then she slowly let her forefinger trail south, over the channel, past the French coast, and then,

ʻParis,ʼ she said. ʻIʼve always wanted to go there. You remember that Beauxbatons boy who said that there is no better place for magical shopping.ʼ

ʻShopping?ʼ said Tracey incredulously. ʻI thought travelling around the world is supposed to serve educational purposes. But Miss Greengrass doesnʼt care about the magical community in the Bretagne, no, she has more important-ʼ

ʻShut up,ʼ grinned Daphne. ʻWeʼll come across more than enough culture on our way. We first visit the Bretagne for our education, and then weʼll go to the capital. You can grace me with a bit of shopping.ʼ

ʻAh, you uncultured brat,ʼ exclaimed Tracey, as dramatically raising her arms as was possible from a beanbag. ʻThere we set out to explore the most ancient mysteries of the magical world, and Miss Daphne Greengrass is not to be dragged out of Gladrags Wizardware.ʼ

ʻI donʼt want to go to Gladrags, thatʼs also in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley,ʼ chortled Daphne. ʻAnd then we cross the border to proceed to the Brocken, a place most renown for wizarding gatherings. And soon-ʼ

ʻMiss Greengrass will find an interesting clothes shop to relieve herself from the burden- was that the bell?ʼ

ʻYeah,ʼ muttered Daphne. ʻBut Dadʼs in the garden. Iʼll check.ʼ

She went over to a trapdoor and opened it, leaning down.

ʻAstoria!ʼ she shouted downstairs. ʻDid Dad hear that, or are you going to answer the door?ʼ

There was a moment of silence, and in the distance a door could be heard being opened. Then a soft voice rose up to the two girls. ʻIʼve seen Dad going to open the door. Wait a moment... I hear voices. A woman.ʼ

ʻNot Mum?ʼ

ʻMumʼs got a key. I think whoever it is is coming upstairs.ʼ

ʻNot Draco again!ʼ moaned Daphne.

ʻI told you I heard a woman,ʼ answered the girl on the lower floor, her tone a tiny bit sharper. ʻIʼd recognize Dracoʼs gait.ʼ

ʻDo you expect someone?ʼ whispered Tracey.

ʻOf course not, Iʼd have told you,ʼ said Daphne. ʻBut I hear the footsteps now too-ʼ

ʻOy, you,ʼ a rough female voice below interrupted the two friends, ʻyouʼre Daphneʼs little sister, right? Where is she!ʼ

Daphne turned to stare at Tracey who goggled at the opening in the floor and mouthed the same name as Daphne-

ʻPansy, weʼre up here,ʼ said Daphne shakily, letting the ladder glide down with a flick of her wand.

Slowly Daphne retreated next to the few traces of a human presence that were still visible in the beanbag. Both girlsʼ eyes were fixed on the hole from where light sounds could be heard. And soon, a head appeared in the trapdoor, then a torso, and a moment later a third girl stood in the room.

ʻGood afternoon, Daphne,ʼ said the newcomer, her hard features thrown into sharp relief by the candles. ʻI havenʼt heard from you for a long time.ʼ

Daphne shrugged and smiled nervously. ʻWell... you see... you were in prison.ʼ

ʻI know that myself,ʼ snapped Pansy. ʻThatʼs no excuse to do not show your sympathies. After your shameful behaviour. Whoʼs there?ʼ

The beanbag had exhaled loudly but then abruptly stopped itself from making anymore noise. Pansy eyed it suspiciously. She made a step towards it and tilted her head. ʻTracey?ʼ

ʻAlmost like back at Hogwarts,ʼ said Daphne with forced cheer. ʻTracey and I will travel around the world for the next couple of months. We leave next week.ʼ

Pansyʼs eyes widened. ʻThat sounds good. Er... can I come with you?ʼ

ʻArenʼt you going back for your NEWTs?ʼ

ʻHa!ʼ exclaimed Pansy, walking over to a chair, dragging it over the floor so that its legs screamed, and coming to a halt near to the two friends. Sitting down, she said, ʻAs if Iʼd go back to that filth. As if a proper education were possible with mud sticking everywhere.ʼ

ʻItʼs not advisable to say such things nowadays,ʼ said Daphne, betraying no emotion while the beanbag showed no sign of life.

ʻWell, Iʼm among friends,ʼ said Pansy, giving the beanbag a nasty look. ʻUnless you want to turn on me too. Like you turned on whatʼs right.ʼ

ʻRight?ʼ exclaimed the beanbag, spitting Tracey out again. ʻHowʼs it right to torture children with the Cruciatus Curse? Hurting others is a crime, no matter why. We had a good last half-year of school, and without you to order us around, we have also had the liberty to make friends.ʼ

ʻMake friends!ʼ Pansy shrieked. ʻAnd what are I and Daphne? How dare you! Is this why you decided to return as a traitress and fight against us? So that you could feel important yourself?ʼ

ʻPansy,ʼ said Daphne soothingly. ʻYou are among friends. Be reasonable. Matters are now as they are, and thereʼs nothing any of us can do about it. Letʼs just forget what happened in that year and remember the six preceding ones.ʼ

ʻI was put into prison, I and Millicent, while you-ʼ Pansy snorted angrily. ʻTracey betrayed us, and how did you escape these scoundrelsʼ lynch justice?ʼ

ʻBy telling them the truth. You forced me to join the Death Eaters. Forced me and my sister.ʼ

Pansy glared at her. ʻYou? That was you and that bit of nothing downstairs who sent me to Azkaban with this story.ʼ

ʻShut up about my sister and stop pretending. Itʼs the truth.ʼ

ʻBlaise escaped too,ʼ mused Pansy, her face contorted with rage and turned away from her, well, apparently former friends. ʻThat was to be expected. That peacock. But how did Draco stay out of prison. Everybody knows he was a Death Eater.ʼ

ʻHe has been tried, and the Wizengamot decided that he had not committed grave enough crimes,ʼ said Daphne. ʻBut rest assured, Iʼd have loved to see him go to prison.ʼ

ʻReally?ʼ Pansy lifted an eyebrow, obviously inviting Daphne to expand her story. But the girl only leant back in the bed and stared at the ceiling.

ʻThe Malfoys still have all their money?ʼ asked Pansy in an attempt to sound nonchalant. ʻThey didnʼt have to pay any fines? They all are free?ʼ

Daphne ignored all these questions, but Tracey slowly sat up properly and eyed Pansy with vague amusement.

ʻI think that Dracoʼs father got a suspended gaol sentence. So, yeah, theyʼre all free. But not for you.ʼ

Tracey grinned, glancing from Pansy to Daphne who had turned on her stomach and hid her face in her blankets, muttering not all too nice sounding words into the fabric.

ʻI beg your pardon,ʼ said Pansy icily. ʻWhatever youʼre implying can hardly be based on facts. As if youʼd know of any of Dracoʼs plans.ʼ

ʻI know one plan of Dracoʼs alright,ʼ said Tracey, her grin growing. ʻAnd it contains no Pansy Parkinson.ʼ

ʻYou canʼt meant that Draco would chose someone like- like-ʼ

ʻMe?ʼ asked Tracey. ʻNo, no, he has not chosen me. But sadly, my dear Pansy, he will also not chose the girl who spent her last year of school ignoring him.ʼ

ʻEveryone knew that he was in disgrace,ʼ snapped Pansy. ʻWhat would I have wanted with him? But now that heʼs at least got his money back, he only needs a woman who knows how to use it, and weʼll immediately be of foremost importance again.ʼ

Upon these words, Tracey collapsed into silent fits of laughter, letting herself be swallowed again by the beanbag. Daphne, on the other hand, slowly lifted her head.

ʻYouʼre welcome to try and convince him of this,ʼ she said. ʻBecause Astoria would hardly help there.ʼ

Pansy visibly started, and her eyes snapped from Tracey to Daphne. She opened her mouth and closed it again, moving it as if she was chewing something. Time seemed to pass very slowly as the three girls sat in their places without showing any attempt to break the silence.

ʻAstoria...ʼ Pansy at last breathed. ʻYour little sister... that plain and invisible bit of nothing-ʼ

Daphne sat up quickly and glared at Pansy. ʻDonʼt talk about my sister like that. Sheʼs too good to be talked about by someone like you. And she is also, Merlin knows, more than far too good for Draco. And I promise you. Iʼll do anything to make them break up. Because he deserves no one better than you.ʼ

Pansy sat on her chair as if she had been hit by a Body-Bind Curse. Noting moved but her hastily blinking eyes that she kept on Daphne as if hoping to make undone what the girl had said. ʻYouʼre seriously telling me,ʼ she whispered finally, ʻthat Draco is going with your little sister? He doesnʼt even know her!ʼ

ʻThatʼs what I thought too,ʼ said Daphne, falling back on the bed and putting her hands over her eyes. ʻBut theyʼre engaged for half a year now.ʼ

ʻEngaged!ʼ Pansy turned away from the two other girls and stared at the wall. ʻHow old is your sister! Engaged!ʼ

ʻSheʼll come of age in spring.ʼ

ʻAnd then theyʼll marry!ʼ

ʻNo,ʼ muttered Daphne, still covering her eyes. ʻOnly the year after the next. Astoria has to finish school, and then the next spring. You see, thereʼs still time for you to try and get him.ʼ

ʻGood luck,ʼ chirped Tracey. ʻWe wonʼt be in your way but can send a postcard.ʼ

ʻYouʼre taking the mickey out of me,ʼ hissed Pansy, getting to her feet while she tried her best to put a dignified expression on her face. ʻI am going. And you have been my friends.ʼ

ʻReally? I wasnʼt aware of this,ʼ said Daphne, her voice considerably muffled as she had just immersed her head in a pillow.

ʻYou know,ʼ said Tracey, standing up from the beanbag, ʻin times like these, it is far more profitable to be friends with Hermione Granger than with you.ʼ

Pansy didnʼt respond to this and marched over to the trapdoor.

ʻIʼll show you the way down,ʼ said Daphne suddenly, springing to her feet.

ʻI know the way,ʼ snapped Pansy. ʻI just went up.ʼ

ʻSure, sure, but itʼs only proper to accompany you.ʼ

ʻI donʼt want your company.ʼ

Pansy disappeared down the trapdoor. Daphne looked back to Tracey and made a face. Before Tracey could say anything, she followed Pansy down the ladder. Tracey cocked her head to the side and tiptoed to the trapdoor, listening attentively as Pansyʼs protests sounded from further and further off. Then a door was closed in the distance. Tracey waited until she could hear steps climbing up the stairs again, stopping shortly on a lower flight to open a door and say something too quietly for Tracey to hear. She softly returned to the beanbag and took her notes up just as Daphne appeared through the trapdoor.

ʻYou havenʼt been worrying sheʼd do something to Astoria?ʼ said Tracey, keeping her eyes on the notes. ʻSheʼs not _that_ stupid.ʼ

ʻBetter not take any risks,ʼ said Daphne, returning to her own notes. ʻGalloping gargoyles, I canʼt wait to get away from here.ʼ

ʻThe worldʼs the same wherever we are.ʼ

Daphne sighed and rubbed her temples. ʻMaybe. But maybe, just maybe, we wonʼt be.ʼ


	3. The Boy and the Broomstick

_I count down the days until the summer holidays start with so much impatience. I yearn for the day when you will return home and are only to leave it one more time to move in with me. Each day without you is a waste. I live only for your letters, faithfully arriving each morning, and know that your eyes are likewise turned towards the sky in the Great Hall, looking out for the post with the same eagerness._

 _Do not worry about what my parents think, they know I need you and would never cause any real trouble. And with time they will love you too for you are too adorable for anybody to resist loving you. My only disquiet is that those who surround you all must feel the same, and if I did not know about your constancy, I would spend many a sleepless night. It is almost a year since we got engaged, the longest year of my life. It seems impossibly cruel that we are to wait for next spring. I do not know how to survive another year without you by my side?_

 _The weather is remarkably fine, but what is the use of it if I cannot share it with you and witness your outbursts of delight at every flower, every butterfly. Now, I am reduced to sit in the drawing room and conjure you next to me with my quill. I have no incentive to help my mother conversing with her sister. If I were in the mood, the scene before me would be laughable. Let me describe them for you, darling: they sit opposite each other, stiff as board, each with a cup of tea and every ten minutes they make a remark about their health, clothes, or the weather. Father is not with us currently; he and my aunt always bicker, it seems to me mostly to make plain how much they dislike each other._

 _I should not mention such matters, I know their comprehension is beyond your dear little heart of gold. Let me move on to topics that must be more agreeable for you – and no one counts but you. My auntʼs two years old grandson has spent the entire hour of non-conversation between Mother and my aunt sleeping on the sofa. At the moment, heʼs got thick, green curls around his round face, but I heard heʼs a Metamorphmagus. I am admittedly a bit curious to witness some transformation in his appearance, I will write about it as soon as I-_

Dracoʼs quill remained hovering an inch over the parchment as his aunt made another attempt at conversation.

ʻTo whom is your son writing such long letters? I hope it is at least something agreeable?ʼ

ʻThat depends on whom you ask,ʼ his mother answered in an ominously low voice that told him clearly, she didnʼt wish to be overheard. Draco kept his gaze focused on the parchment before him, not caring to point out to his mother that her voice was quite carrying. ʻI am afraid Draco would call it agreeable, yet I canʼt help disapproving. To his girlfriend.ʼ

ʻYou disapprove of the girl?ʼ asked her sister, also lowering her voice, but Draco glanced over in time to see her smile rather viciously. ʻWhat is wrong with the connection?ʼ

ʻThereʼs nothing wrong with the connection,ʼ whispered his mother distinctly on, making it easy for Draco to follow the conversation at the other side of the room. ʻSheʼs a Greengrass, thatʼs good enough for us. But sheʼs such a sickly, little thing, I donʼt see why anybody should wish to marry her. Thereʼs nothing remarkable about her.ʼ

ʻSo you consider it likely that they will marry in the end?ʼ

Draco didnʼt look up from the parchment on which he slowly formulated his next affectionate phrase, but he could hear his mother sigh as she continued. ʻWell, theyʼre engaged ever since last summer. Ever since Dracoʼs got his N.E.W.T.s, he has done nothing but wait for the summer holidays and has even gone to Kings Cross to welcome that creature. They write to each other every day, horribly sugary letters. I donʼt know my son anymore! I mean, theyʼve got nothing in common, Draco doesnʼt know what heʼs doing. He has only just turned twenty and the girlʼs eighteen. At least I could make them promise to wait another year, but theyʼre still far too young. This is such a hastened business. I hate hurried decisions.ʼ

ʻI know,ʼ said his aunt, sounding amused. ʻBut when two young people take it into their head to marry, they will carry their point, be they ever so imprudent, or ever so little likely to be necessary for each otherʼs ultimate comfort. Do I know what Iʼm talking about?ʼ

Draco formed the next few words into his motherʼs embarrassed silence, his quill screeching slightly on the parchment. Draco was certain, his mother deliberated whether her sister was luring her into some trap that would lead to an argument. In the end, she seemed to consider an abrupt turn of conversation most secure. ʻHave you seen my rose bushes? They are blooming lovelily.ʼ

ʻNo, I havenʼt,ʼ answered her sister with a bit too much enthusiasm, sounding glad to escape a topic she had brought up herself. ʻIʼd love to though .ʼ

ʻThey are planted behind the house,ʼ said his mother, sweeping over to the door into the garden. ʻThe walk through the shrubbery is the one most pleasant. Let me show you.ʼ

There was a commotion at the door and some whispering outside that didnʼt profit from the acoustic of the drawing room and remained incomprehensible to Draco.

ʻWe go for a short walk, Draco,ʼ his mother called over. ʻKeep an eye on Teddy, will you?ʼ

Dracoʼs head jerked up and he wanted to utter some note of protest, but she had already closed the door and he could see her through the window, walking away with her sister, arm in arm. With alarm, he looked over to the sofa, and to his horror, the boy must have woken by the sound of the closing door. He slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes with his fists and yawned. Then he looked around with a puzzled expression.

Draco looked quickly down on his parchment, hoping that the boy would go to sleep again. He didnʼt mind the boy in the house, it would be of no use to be offended by his presence, but he really didnʼt want to have any contact with him – with that puppy. At the memory, Draco gripped his quill so hard to stop himself from quivering that the feather broke.

A small thud made him look up with increasing fear. The boy had climbed from the sofa and turned to look at him directly. Draco quickly fixed his eyes on his fist, in which he could feel the pieces of the quill pricking him. He wished for Astoria to be there as she would love nothing more than to play with little children. He couldnʼt get along with little children – certainly not with this child! As he stared at his trembling fist, he heard soft footsteps steadily advancing towards him, and at last, something tugged at his robes. Draco looked down with a drooping feeling in his stomach.

ʻWheʼeʼsh Gʼanny?ʼ the boy said, the words slurred because of the dummy in his mouth.

ʻIn the garden, sheʼll be back in a momentʼ said Draco curtly, giving the boy an unfriendly look so that he would be left alone. Yet, his hopes were immediately shattered as the boy tugged at his robes again.

ʻWhoʼshe you?ʼ he asked, looking up at him with great interest.

ʻIʼm your grandmotherʼs nephew,ʼ Draco answered after some hesitation.

The boy nodded seriously and cocked his head to the left, squinting his eyes in concentration. A few seconds later, his curls had straightened and turned pale blond. Slowly, the boyʼs features became more pointed until Draco could have mixed up the boy before him with the child in old photographs that he more knew than remembered represented himself.

ʻBetteʼ?ʼ the boy asked with a broad grin that almost made him lose his dummy.

Draco smiled despite himself. ʻWhatʼs better?ʼ

The boy looked gravely up at him. ʻYou wannoo play Gobshtons?ʼ

ʻEr, no thank you, I always preferred flying when I was your age.ʼ

ʻI neveʼ fly,ʼ said the boy with interest. ʻHow joo do?ʼ

ʻWith a broomstick,ʼ said Draco, to his surprise starting to enjoy the conversation. ʻThere are toy broomsticks especially for little wizards.ʼ

ʻOoo,ʼ said the boy, the dummy falling from his mouth. He let himself drop to the floor, the fall softened by his nappies. He took up the dummy and put it in his mouth, then he scrambled back to his feet to talk on. ʻI wannoo see, show phleaaaase.ʼ

ʻI donʼt know,ʼ said Draco. ʻI think my toy broomstick is somewhere in the garden shed, but itʼs old, It might be no longer safe.ʼ

The boy didnʼt pay much attention but hopped up and down before him. ʻPhleaaaase!ʼ

Reluctantly, Draco got to his feet. The boy clapped into his hands and extended one toward Draco. Feeling oddly touched, Draco took the boyʼs hand and walked out into the garden. They walked slowly over to a small wooden building behind some trees, containing all that was somehow used in the garden or not at all anymore though no one had the heart to dispose of it.

ʻWait here,ʼ said Draco letting go of the boy, who remained obediently outside but watched attentively as Draco opened the shed with his wand and entered. At first sight, he wanted to give right up again. There were such large quantities of earth, watering cans and shovels he was sure none of his family ever touched. But these countless objects covered anything that might else be in the shed.

ʻWheʼeʼshe bʼoom?ʼ said the boy, goggling into the shed.

ʻ _Accio broomstick!_ ʼ said Draco, reminding himself that he didnʼt have to search manually. Something rumbled from behind a couple of shovels and – causing an empty pot to fall and shatter – a little broomstick soared to him from the depths of the shed.

ʻBʼoom!ʼ exclaimed the boy and clapped his hands while Draco hastily repaired the pot. Smiling due to a sudden fit of nostalgia, he stepped out of the shed and took a closer look at the rather battered broom.

The boy was glowing with enthusiasm and Draco had to admire his auntʼs education that kept the boy from wrenching the broom out of his grip. As soon as he had handed it to his young relative, the boy eagerly climbed on it only to slip immediately down again. Not the least disheartened, he pushed his slowly blueing hair out of his eyes and got on again, falling from the broom as soon as he lost the ground under his feet. Draco couldnʼt blame him, after all these years that it hadnʼt been in use, the broom had become horribly lopsided.

ʻThe broomstick is faulty. You canʼt fly it,ʼ he told the boy who climbed back on the broom with unbroken fervour.

ʻOo mush holʼ my hanʼ,ʼ declared the boy gravely, taking Dracoʼs hand before he could protest and, by hanging on to it, managing to stay on the broom. Slightly unsure whether the broomstick was really safe, Draco walked next to the first-time flyer who circled the lawn before the garden shed, his small face full of concentration.

The boy was in the middle of his fifth round when a voice far off cried out, ʻTeddy!ʼ

Draco stood still, startled by the panicked tone of the womanʼs - most likely his auntʼs - voice.

ʻHeʼe,ʼ cried Teddy happily towards the scream, losing his dummy, and after a momentʼs hesitation, Draco called out too, certain that Teddyʼs voice didnʼt carry far enough.

ʻI wannoo fly toʼaaʼs Gʼanny,ʼ declared the boy with new ardour, swaying insecurely on the broom as Draco bent down to pick up the dummy. Having no better idea himself, Draco started leading the boy towards the house.

They had not gone far when he saw his aunt and mother running towards him, stopping several feet away and staring at the two of them. Teddy took his hand from the broomstick to wave at his grandmother, an act that caused the whole boy to tumble from the broom. As Draco still held his other hand, the boy didnʼt fall onto the gravel but managed to straighten up.

ʻI fly!ʼ shouted the boy over to his grandmother. Draco slowly felt his face grow hot because of the disbelieving looks his mother and aunt continued to give him.

ʻYou flew,ʼ said the grandmother weakly. ʻDo you have any idea what I went through when I found you missing?ʼ

ʻI wanʼ a bʼoom too!ʼ called the boy, happily looking at the broomstick he now held in his free hand.

ʻAnd how comes you are out here with a broomstick?ʼ his grandmother asked, sounding still shaken.

ʻI wanno fly anʼ he woonʼ play gobshtons,ʼ said the boy, letting go of Draco and strutting proudly towards his grandmother.

ʻWhy did you bring him out here?ʼ she asked sharply, addressing Draco.

ʻHe... I told him about my old toy broomstick and he... wanted... to see it?ʼ

ʻYou could have told us so first,ʼ said his mother, looking at him with wonder.

ʻYou had gone outside.ʼ

ʻHow about leaving a note?ʼ

Draco stared at his mother, realising now how logical her suggestion was. Acutely aware of his glowing head, he approached them to stand beside his mother while her sister, who had lifted her grandson from the ground, cuddled the child. The boy still held on to the broomstick.

ʻAre you all right?ʼ his grandmother whispered.

ʻI wanʼ a bʼoom!ʼ shouted the boy, full of joy.

ʻProbably on your next birthday.ʼ

ʻBut thaʼs sooo lonʼ.ʼ

ʻThen Christmas.ʼ

ʻTooooo lonʼ,ʼ complained the boy.

ʻHavenʼt you flown enough for the rest of the year?ʼ she responded with slight exasperation, taking the broom from the boyʼs grip and extending it towards Draco.

Very thankful for the excuse to turn his back on the women and the boy, Draco took it immediately and went to put the broomstick back from where he had taken it a short while ago.

* * *

 _A/N Who noticed the Jane Austen quote? I know Iʼm childish... sorry..._


	4. Before the Wedding

_Disclaimer: Did I already mention that I donʼt own Harry Potter?_

* * *

The door closed with a snapping sound so final that it made Astoria flinch. She swerved slightly on the stool she stood on and was grateful when the only other person still present took her hand and stabilized her for a moment. Reluctantly letting go of the then withdrawing hand, Astoria looked over to the mirror and sighed. With the long white dress, her resemblance to a ghost was even more pronounced than usual. And it was of no help that her face had lost all colour. She lowered her eyes to the table where her future mother-in-law had just deposited a jewelled headband before quickly leaving again. The ornament was certainly magnificent, but it had been given in such a spiteful manner (at least that was Astoriaʼs impression) that she was close to terrified to wear it.

Astoria put her hands on her far too fast beating heart and looked towards the woman who walked around her in circles, busily re-draping the dress and stretching the lace into form with her wand. She wore a stern, displeased look, making Astoria feeling ever more lonesome and insecure. A half-suppressed sob escaped her throat despite all her effort to swallow it.

The woman looked up. As Astoria stood on the stool, her head was about on the same level as the womanʼs so that they could see directly into each otherʼs eyes.

ʻItʼs natural to be nervous,ʼ said the woman in a slightly gruff tone. ʻDonʼt worry, everythingʼs perfectly organised.ʼ

Astoria nodded dejectedly, the promised perfection of the event scaring her additionally. Desperate not to look into the mirror, she looked down and her eyes fell on the headband.

ʻShe doesnʼt like me,ʼ she whispered, unable to restrain herself from voicing the terrible truth.

ʻWho?ʼ asked the woman absentmindedly, making a step back from Astoria to observe the dress.

ʻDracoʼs mother,ʼ Astoria said, blinking back the tears.

The woman hesitated a moment. ʻIt could be worse,ʼ she then stated curtly.

Astoria hastily wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ʻIʼm not good enough for Draco.ʼ

ʻIf you were as rich as the queen of Saba,ʼ said the woman indifferently, ʻas beautiful as Aphrodite, as virtuous as Lucrece, and as wise as the Pythia, you wouldnʼt be good enough for Draco in my sisterʼs eyes.ʼ

ʻOh, Iʼm sorry,ʼ whispered Astoria, terrified and swaying worse than ever on the stool.

ʻWhat are you sorry for?ʼ asked the woman, stepping forward to take Astoriaʼs hand.

ʻI didnʼt know youʼre her sister,ʼ said Astoria miserably, leaning against the woman. ʻI didnʼt intend to be rude.ʼ

ʻNo reason to look so horrified,ʼ said the woman with a bitter laugh. ʻMy sister didnʼt proclaim our relationship in the past few years. Iʼm Andromeda Tonks.ʼ

ʻTonks?ʼ asked Astoria delighted. ʻOh, Draco wrote to me about you. Youʼre the one with the grandson, arenʼt you? Teddy?ʼ

ʻYes,ʼ said Andromeda slightly perplexed. ʻGet off the stool, I can make your hair. Draco wrote to you about me?ʼ

ʻYes, he told me that the boy turned all blond as he looked at him, and he let him fly on his old toy broom.ʼ

ʻAh, yes, I remember,ʼ said Andromeda, smiling fleetingly and trying to make Astoria sit before the mirror. ʻIʼd gone into the gardens to admire Cissyʼs roses and when we came back, no Teddy! I was an inch from panicking when we found them on the other side of the garden. I was quite... Now, sit down, girl.ʼ

ʻPlease, not before the mirror,ʼ begged Astoria. ʻCanʼt I sit anywhere else? It must be strange to have him constantly changing appearances. You never know what he looks like when he comes visiting.ʼ

Andromedaʼs small smile froze as she led Astoria away from the mirror to an armchair. ʻFirst, I know this from my daughter,ʼ she said coldly, ʻsecond heʼs living with me.ʼ

ʻWhy?ʼ asked Astoria as she sank into the armchair. ʻWhatʼs with his parents?ʼ

ʻTheyʼre dead.ʼ

Astoria winced, fresh horror gripping her at her own tactlessness. ʻIʼm sorry, I didnʼt know,ʼ she whispered.

ʻIʼm not going to eat you for this,ʼ said Andromeda as she sat down on the right side of Astoriaʼs armchair, waving several hairbrushes, pins and the headband towards her with her wand.

ʻHave you brought him with you?ʼ asked Astoria shyly, automatically looking around in the room.

ʻHeʼs with his godfather,ʼ answered Andromeda, drawing her hands through Astoriaʼs hair.

ʻOh,ʼ said Astoria, slightly disappointed. ʻIʼd have liked to meet him. Why didnʼt he come with his godfather?ʼ

ʻWhat would his godfather want here?ʼ asked Andromeda cynically, making Astoria wince for the nth time. ʻDonʼt be so panicky, this is your wedding day, youʼre supposed to be cheerful.ʼ

ʻI am,ʼ sighed Astoria. ʻBut... nobody wants this.ʼ

ʻThe wedding?ʼ

Astoria nodded, fresh tears in her eyes, as Andromeda started to brush her hair.

ʻSo why are you and Draco marrying if you donʼt want to?ʼ

ʻOf course Draco and I want to marry,ʼ said Astoria, somewhere between surprised and offended. ʻItʼs just everyone else.ʼ

ʻWho cares for everyone else?ʼ spit Andromeda aggressively, dividing Astoriaʼs hair.

ʻB-but...ʼ spluttered Astoria, wiping away more tears. ʻDracoʼs parents hate me and thereʼs nothing I can do-ʼ

ʻIf theyʼd really hate you, you wouldnʼt be here,ʼ said Andromeda, starting to heave Astoriaʼs hair into an elaborate construction on her head. ʻTrust me, I know what Iʼm talking about.ʼ

ʻThey wouldnʼt have me here,ʼ said Astoria. ʻDraco just left them no choice. But sometimes I think it would have been my duty to break up with him so that I donʼt disrupt him and his parents.ʼ

Andromedaʼs hands stopped and she sighed. ʻYou donʼt know how lucky you are,ʼ she said quietly. ʻYou can have each other and your family.ʼ

ʻItʼs so horrid to feel their dislike,ʼ muttered Astoria.

ʻWhy do they dislike you?ʼ asked Andromeda, resuming her hairstyling. ʻYouʼre from an old family.ʼ

ʻItʼs myself,ʼ said Astoria miserably. ʻIʼm too weak.ʼ

ʻWeak?ʼ

ʻThey were very friendly at first,ʼ recounted Astoria sadly. ʻBut when Draco left school and my family visited him at Christmas - when I still had over one and half year of school - I happened to mention a friend of a friend who had had her wand taken from her and the poor thing suffered so much - she was torn from her family and even sent to Azkaban, it was so horrid.

ʻAnd from then on, they grew ever colder. Last autumn, we were at the Leaky Cauldron, and I wanted to go and visit my best friend when Dracoʼs father yelled at me that I would never ever enter Malfoy Manor again.ʼ

ʻBut youʼre here.ʼ

ʻDraco was so brave! He just told them that heʼd move out.ʼ Astoriaʼs eyes lighted and she tried to turn around, but Andromeda forced her head into its former posture. ʻHeʼs so wonderful,ʼ added Astoria more to herself.

Andromeda chuckled, having almost all of Astoriaʼs hair braided into the knot on her head. ʻFine blackmailing. So youʼve got your happy ending.ʼ

ʻBut they donʼt like me any better for it,ʼ said Astoria, feeling dejected again. ʻMum and Dad also think Iʼm doing the wrong thing, and Daphne hates Draco.ʼ

ʻWhy, whatʼs their problem?ʼ asked Andromeda, going over to weave the headband into the hair.

ʻMum wants me to stay with her at home always, but... as much as I love my parents, I want to spend my short life with Draco. And Daphneʼs sure that Dracoʼs ruining me. Iʼve told her that I _want_ to marry him, but she says I donʼt know what Iʼm talking about. But I know! I donʼt care about dying, we all have to sooner or later, and as it is to be sooner with me anyway, why canʼt I live with Draco until then and have as many children as I can?ʼ

ʻAt least in the latter I suppose youʼll have Cissyʼs acquiescence. But arenʼt you a bit too young to talk so much about dying,ʼ said Andromeda in a subdued voice, bending over Astoriaʼs head and putting strands of hair in place with her wand.

ʻDeath, thinking about death, is so normal for me that Iʼm always perplexed by other peopleʼs reaction,ʼ mused Astoria. ʻIʼm affected by an inherited curse. I spent half my childhood at St Mungoʼs and they did all they could, but it is still slowly stifling my heart.ʼ

ʻIʼm sorry.ʼ

ʻThe only thing Iʼm sorry about,ʼ said Astoria a bit sulkily, ʻis that Daphneʼs talked Draco into treating me like glass. I want children, but everyoneʼs telling me thatʼs a bad idea.ʼ

Andromeda made some sound that might have been intended to show sympathy, but it resembled far more a sob. Astoria tried to turn in alarm, but Andromeda held her head fast.

ʻIʼm sorry,ʼ whispered Astoria, patting the other womanʼs knee as the only part she could reach. ʻDid I say something wrong?ʼ

ʻNo, no,ʼ muttered Andromeda. It was several long seconds later when she added, ʻItʼs actually the diadem. It was my motherʼs.ʼ

ʻYes?ʼ said Astoria sympathetically. ʻMrs Malfoy told me she wore it at her wedding.ʼ

ʻYes, I remember my elder sister wearing it too.ʼ

ʻYou too?ʼ

ʻOf course not,ʼ hissed Andromeda, letting go of Astoriaʼs head and striding over to a window, looking out of it with her face averted.

ʻIʼm sorry,ʼ said Astoria, getting to her feet, her hands carefully stretched out towards her hair. ʻI didnʼt intend to hurt you. Is there something wrong with the headband?ʼ

ʻWell, concerning its two last wearers, letʼs hope youʼll have the marital happiness of Cissy, not of Bella,ʼ said the woman towards the window.

ʻWh-why?ʼ asked Astoria, frightened.

ʻEver heard of Bellatrix Lestrange?ʼ asked Andromeda, turning on the spot and walking back to Astoria.

ʻY-yes,ʼ stuttered Astoria. ʻI just f-forgot. I know that she was Dracoʼs aunt, he told me, but I didnʼt make the-ʼ

ʻNever mind,ʼ said Andromeda curtly, walking around Astoria and arranging her dress. ʻItʼs long ago.ʼ

Astoria was desperately looking for anything to say when the abrupt opening of the door saved her from these trials.

ʻAstoria, sweetheart, Iʼve got some roses here so that I can make your-ʼ The woman stopped in the doorway, looking at Astoria. ʻOh, you have your hair already done. Em...ʼ

ʻWeʼll manage,ʼ said Andromeda brusquely, walking forwards and taking the flowers out of the womanʼs hands. ʻHow do you want them?ʼ

ʻI... I would have put them somehow – on the left side of the head – I intended – but...ʼ

ʻLike that?ʼ asked Andromeda critically, arranging the flowers on Astoriaʼs head.

ʻThat looks lovely,ʼ said the woman, stepping over to them. ʻBut, Andromeda, you donʼt have to do this, sheʼs-ʼ

ʻIʼve done her hair so itʼs better if I undo it again. If you would assist me...ʼ

The newcomer took the roses Andromeda handed her back and for a while the women worked mostly in silence around Astoria, who was slowly feeling the heaviness of her head. She felt her knees sagging.

ʻAre you all right, dear?ʼ asked the woman.

ʻI- Iʼm fine, Mum,ʼ said Astoria, fighting a smile on her lips.

ʻIf youʼve changed your mind, better say it now than too late.ʼ

ʻI havenʼt,ʼ said Astoria, managing to sound indignant. ʻI will be very, very happy.ʼ

Her mother sighed and together with Andromeda prodded her before the mirror.

ʻSheʼs so young to marry already,ʼ sighed her mother.

ʻI donʼt know,ʼ said Andromeda glumly. ʻMy sisters and I were around the same age.ʼ

ʻI was ten years older and it didnʼt do me any harm.ʼ

ʻHas it done us any harm?ʼ asked Andromeda in a low voice while checking Astoriaʼs collar. Astoriaʼs mother fidgeted nervously.

ʻItʼs nearly time,ʼ she said. ʻIʼll be right back, Astoria, Iʼm just going to get your bouquet. Dad is waiting downstairs, everything is ready. Are you going down, Andromeda?ʼ

ʻI suppose so,ʼ said Andromeda and made a step towards the door with Astoriaʼs mother.

ʻDonʼt leave me alone!ʼ exclaimed Astoria, terrified of being but with her own reflection.

The women wavered. ʻI can stay for the moment,ʼ said Andromeda then. Astoriaʼs mother nodded thankfully and hastened out of the door.

ʻIʼm sorry,ʼ whispered Astoria, tears rising in her eyes again.

ʻStop worrying,ʼ said Andromeda strictly, bending down to look her in the face. ʻAnd stop crying, what would your guests think? I thought youʼre very, very happy.ʼ

ʻI am,ʼ moaned Astoria. ʻBut I just canʼt help crying.ʼ

Andromeda made a tut-tutting sound and directed her wand at Astoriaʼs face, muttering a lengthy incantation, interrupting herself only to lean over to dressing the table and snatch up some lotion, she then dapped on Astoriaʼs face.

ʻThanks for freshening her up,ʼ called Astoriaʼs mother from the door, carrying a large bunch of white roses towards her daughter. ʻReady to go down, Astoria?ʼ

With a tremendous effort, Astoria willed a smile on her face and nodded.


End file.
